


Cold Comfort

by romanticalgirl



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you go there, they have to take you in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman**...as if that surprises *anyone*
> 
> Originally posted 3-6-06

Lancelot slid off his horse to the ground, never losing a stride as he kept moving, the large animal providing the semblance of shelter as it moved with him. He dropped down on one knee, glancing into the dark skies around him before forcing his gaze to the man at his feet.

“Gone?” Gawain hissed as he shifted his position.

“Don’t move,” Lancelot snapped, his voice barely above a whisper. He tilted his head to the side, listening, then nodded, squatting down beside his fellow knight. “Gone.”

“Or dead.”

“Either’s fine with me right now.” He turned and faced Gawain, his mouth closed tightly, though his eyes widened.

“How bad is it?”

“You’ve got an arrow lodged in your shoulder.”

“I _know_ that.”

Lancelot got to his feet and nickered to his horse, moving over to the beast as it sauntered back toward him. He gathered his bag off the saddle and then patted the horse’s neck, catching its reins and looping them loosely over the ragged branch of a nearby tree.

“My horse?”

“I’m sorry.”

Gawain sighed and closed his eyes, the telling glint of regret shining in the flash of the moon before he found control. “They’d best be dead and not just gone.”

Lancelot nodded as he moved back to Gawain, setting his bag on the ground beside his foot as he straddled the other knight. He unfastened the belt across his chest, easing his swords to the ground and unthreading the leather strap. He snapped it straight and wrapped the ends of it around his hands as he held it in front of Gawain’s mouth. “This is going to hurt.”

“It had to be you, didn’t it? Not Tristan or Dagonet or even Bors. No. It had to be you.”

“Just bite down.” Lancelot pushed the leather against Gawain’s mouth. “I don’t need you bringing the rest of the Woads down on us because you can’t stand a little pain.”

“I ride with you. I’m constantly in more than a little pain.”

“Bite it.”

Gawain clamped his teeth around the leather, closing his eyes as Lancelot released it and pressed one hand to the skin next to the protruding arrow. He could feel the dark gaze on him and forced himself to watch as Lancelot grabbed the shaft, closed his eyes and jerked the sharp head free.

He snarled around the leather, his teeth meeting through it. Moonlight shone off the blood, dark and red as Lancelot brought the head close to his face and sniffed at the tip.

“Clean. You might live.”

“With you as a nursemaid?” Gawain’s voice was rough with pain as he spit out the leather strap. “The odds aren’t in my favor.”

Lancelot reached for the bag at his side and tugged it open, digging through the contents until he found a small bottle. He placed it in his mouth, his teeth brilliant white around the dark stopper. He looked around then sighed, taking the bottle from his mouth. “Could you bleed a little less?”

“Yes, of course.” Gawain smirked at him. “Because I’m bleeding just to inconvenience you.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Lancelot got to his feet and strode over to his horse once more, unsheathing his knife and cutting off a large section of the blanket beneath the saddle. He patted the animal’s neck and pressed his head to the sleek hide. “He needs it more than you, my friend.”

“Not to intrude on a tender moment with the closest thing you’re likely to get to a female,” Gawain’s voice was tight with pain. “But I could be dying here.”

“If only I were so lucky.” Lancelot muttered under his breath as he moved back and straddled Gawain again. He tugged the shattered armor aside and pressed the blanket hard against the wound, the soft fabric soaking up the dark blood.

“Ow! That hurts, you know. There was an arrow there.”

“But there’s not now,” Lancelot reminded him. “So shut up.”

Gawain grunted. “It’s a good thing you kill people for a living.”

“I protect Romans for a living…” Lancelot raised an eyebrow and eased the pressure on Gawain’s shoulder. “No, I prefer your assessment.”

“Thought you might.” Gawain smirked then hissed in pain as Lancelot pressed the cloth to his arm once more. “How bad?”

“As you’ve said, I’m no nursemaid.” He removed the blanket and assessed the wound critically, all of them trained to know death on the field of battle. “But you’re likely to live.” He picked up his small bottle again and tugged the cork out with his teeth, spitting it aside. “Of course, in a moment, you’re really going to wish you weren’t.”

“What do you…GAH.” Gawain ground his teeth together in an effort to keep from screaming, his eyes closing in pain. A bright shimmer of tears flooded past his lashes, raking through the dirt on his face. “Bastard.”

“Well, if you’d rather lose your arm…” Lancelot cut a clean strip from the piece of blanket and wound it around Gawain’s shoulder, securing it with the leather strap and fixing it into place.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed for a moment before he smiled, the wide grin not reflecting the emotion in his eyes. “Of course.” He moved off Gawain and sat beside him, both of them leaning against the broad base of the tree. “You should get some sleep. We’ll ride back at first light.”

“As if I’ll sleep. I feel as if my arm’s on fire.”

“Well, you’re no good on watch, as you can’t lift your arm, much less swing a sword. So go to sleep. You can ride us home.” He got to his feet, grabbing one of his swords from their scabbards, and walking a slow line, setting their perimeter. He chose another tree several feet from Gawain and leaned against it, his eyes scanning the dark horizon.

They stayed in silence for a long while, the moon well across the sky. The only sound that broke the night was the soft whir of insects and the rough catch of Gawain’s breathing. “Drink?”

Lancelot started at the croaky voice then pushed himself off the tree and moved over to his horse again, freeing the small leather pouch from the saddle and moving over to Gawain. “Sorry.” He twisted the top off and held the pouch to Gawain’s lips, listening as he drank thirstily. “I didn’t think.”

“As if any of us depend on you for your brain.” Gawain lifted his good arm and wiped it across his damp mouth as Lancelot took a small sip before tucking the pouch between Gawain’s legs, easily within his reach.

He walked the small perimeter again then settled against a different tree, his dark form blending against it into the night. He heard more than saw Gawain turn his head toward him and looked over to face him. “What?”

“Do you really think any of us will live to be free?”

“I will live to be an old man with a harem of young girls to fulfill my every wish and desire,” Lancelot assured him in a low voice. “And you will live to marry a horrible hag with warts on her nose and a voice like a dying wolf.”

“Ha!” Gawain winced out a laugh. “You’ll be killed by a jealous man thinking you’ve been under his woman’s skirts.”

“So long as he doesn’t catch me there unawares.” Lancelot laughed softly, his teeth bright in the moonlight as a low cloud drifted across, lending the night a silvery glow. After another long stretch of silence, Lancelot turned his head and caught Gawain’s eye. “We will live.” He held Gawain’s gaze until Gawain looked away. “Sleep. If you can.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Sleep anyway.” He nodded toward the waning night. “We’ll head home soon.”

 


End file.
